What if?
by completelyensnarryed
Summary: Pre-slash. Post-DH fic. Snarry. hp/ss. Gen. Hurt/comfort. Harry takes back some of that recklessness that's been a part of him all this time, and would certainly have played a part when he was hunting down Horcruxes. Written for the Fix-It fest over on snape potter on LJ/IJ/DW.
1. Chapter 1

"Find them, Harry," Ron's desperate voice sounded.

It wasn't difficult to find Voldemort. Harry followed the anger, the mindless fury, and saw the flashing red eyes, heard the sounds of water crashing against the shore, and _knew._

Something exchanged hands as Ron handed something over to Harry.

A basilisk fang.

"I got one for you too, mate," his friend told Harry. "If you get the chance to kill the snake first, do it."

There was a hard certainty to Ron's words. Harry nodded.

That was how Harry now found himself crouching, hidden from Voldemort by a stained-glass wall.

Voldemort was angry.

Harry saw only a glimpse of Snape, when he tilted his head a certain way and caught a transparent part of the glass.

Voldemort's fury was palpable as he questioned Snape.

Apparently the Elder Wand was not what Voldemort expected it to be.

Harry had only come to see if there was a way to kill Nagini, finding some way to do it while Voldemort was away, but Voldemort was right there, and would no doubt react quickly should Harry give himself away for the sake of destroying yet another Horcrux.

Not to mention that Harry would be giving himself away to Voldemort not while destroying the snake, but while attempting to undo the protections around her.

Harry was fairly certain that while he was so engaged, Voldemort would kill him quickly.

Harry down. Snake Horcrux still to go.

_Not_ a good trade-off.

Not to mention that he was not certain what Snape would do, were he to see Harry.

There was a strange sort of consolation in that. While Voldemort was _sure_ to take any chance to kill Harry Potter, Severus Snape was only _likely_ to do this, when faced with the option.

It didn't speak well for Harry's chances of coming out of this alive, but then again, considering Harry's mission, Harry's chances were not so good, regardless.

He therefore had to take _any_ opportunity, even if it was only marginally better than the alternative.

And yet... perhaps there was hope. The Elder Wand was not working well for Voldemort. This could, perhaps, be made to buy Harry time. Perhaps Voldemort would be _unable_ to carry out the killing curse...

But what about Snape?

Snape was here too. And Harry had no qualms about _Snape's_ ability to cast the killing curse.

Snape _hated_ Harry.

Still... it was just Voldemort and Snape now, with Voldemort _not_ surrounded by his usual contingent of Death Eaters. Not terribly heartening, but it was better than it could have been.

Hoping for the best, Harry realised that he would just have to risk it.

Summoning every ounce of hatred that he could, Harry got out of his hiding place, wand in hand.

Snape's eyes darted towards him, but Harry had no time for that now.

Levelled his wand on Voldemort.

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry cast, and a green light came out of his wand, more impressive than the wisp of a Crucio Harry had managed that time in the Department of Mysteries, and hit Voldemort squarely between the shoulder blades.

The Dark Lord was thrown against the wall with the worst sound imaginable, crumbling in a heap.

Harry was left to stare at Snape, eye to eye, over the expanse that Voldemort had occupied a moment ago.

Snape seemed to just be staring at Harry, black eyes impossibly wide in his face, though whether from shock or horror, he could not be sure.

Still, at least he wasn't reaching for his wand and hexing Harry.

Making a decision right then and there, Harry turned his back on Snape and towards Nagini, locked in her protective barrier.

"Reducto!" Harry cast, and the protections disintegrated.

Nagini hissed out her fury at Harry, charging to attack.

But Harry was ready.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry cast, immobilising Nagini, even as a flash of red hit the snake a moment after a hoarse cry of "Stupefy."

So, Snape was helping Harry.

What did _that_ mean?

The answer to that question was not as important to Harry as he took out the present Ron had given him earlier and ran to Nagini.

The snake remained completely motionless as Harry reached it and plunged the basilisk fang where he expected Nagini's neck to be.

A horrible sound echoed inside of Harry's mind, but he held on, ramming the only way of destroying a Horcrux further into the snake's body, until the familiar feeling washed over him and he realised it was working.

Nagini crumpled before his eyes, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, letting his guard down momentarily.

That turned out to be a mistake.

"Avada Kedavra!" called a shrill, cold voice, belonging to Voldemort.

So, Harry hadn't killed him, after all.

Pity, that.

Suddenly, everything shimmered to blackness before Harry's eyes, and the last thing he heard was a someone screaming, "No!"

But it was too late as Harry ceased to exist.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

When Harry woke up, he was surrounded by white.**  
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He heard a crying, keening sound from somewhere nearby, and involuntarily turned his head toward its source, seeing two misshapen lumps, covered in blood and shivering miserably, crying out in pain.

_What is that?_ he wondered.

They didn't look dangerous, but then again, looks could be deceiving.

"Harry!" A voice called him, and that voice was familiar. Harry gladly turned away from the two grotesque masses and towards that voice, searching for answers and hoping to find them.

He turned in the direction of the voice and saw...

Albus Dumbledore was walking towards him.

"Professor!" He called out, coming nearer.

Dumbledore smiled kindly at Harry. Wordlessly, he drew Harry into a warm hug.

"Well done, Harry," he whispered, blue eyes shining. "You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man."

They drew apart and Harry saw respect in the old man's eyes.

The older wizard's eyes fell on the two misshapen lumps. They were still crying.

Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"Two of them?" He stared.

"Err... yes?" Harry offered. "Voldemort was distracted with Snape, and I disarmed him, you see..."

"_Disarmed,_ him?" Dumbledore's eyes furrowed.

"Uh, yeah, I think so. I threw the Killing Curse at him. Voldemort went flying, and I took care to kill Nagini. And then..." Harry didn't know. It was like he had no memory of it happening. "I think I died. Snape was there. He cried out because..." He raised his eyes to Dumbledore's. "Voldemort wasn't dead. And," Harry looked at himself. "I think Voldemort killed me."

He looked at Dumbledore, who was looking completely gob-smacked, his eyes wider than his half-moon spectacles.

Realisation caught up with Harry. "Why _are_ there two of them? I had only destroyed one Horcrux - Nagini..?" he asked the Gryffindor Headmaster, looking back at the two keening lumps of flesh behind them, confused now that he had a chance to think about it.

"You did not speak to Severus?" he asked, voice unreadable.

"Um... no. I just cast an Avada Kedavra at Voldemort to distract him so I could kill Nagini. Snape didn't stop me." He looked at Dumbledore closely. "Why should I have spoken to Snape?"

But Dumbledore was looking piercingly at Harry. It unnerved him.

"Tell me, Harry. When Voldemort threw the killing curse at you, did you fight him?"

"I don't think so. But why is that-?"

Dumbledore breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good. That means there is a chance..."

"Sir. I don't think I understand. What chance?"

Dumbledore just looked at Harry, eyes glassy. Harry realised that the old Headmaster was near tears.

"You must understand, Harry, it was never my intention to sacrifice you..."

"Of course not, sir, but w-"

"The night you lost your parents, Harry, Voldemort made one more Horcrux. A Horcrux he did not mean to make."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"His soul had been so unstable by then, that when the killing curse reflected back at him, because of your mother's protection of you, _a piece of Voldemort's sould broke off and went inside you, Harry._ You became the Horcrux Voldemort never meant to make."

"So that second crying shape," Harry asked, "that came from _me?_ When Voldemort threw the killing curse at me?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Is that why-"

"Yes. You can speak to snakes, Harry, because it was one of Voldemort's abilities and a piece of his soul was inside of you since the day he first targeted you." Dumbledore looked saddened at that.

"Sir, why was it important that I not fight Voldemort when he killed me?"

"Because in this way, Harry, his killing curse would have destroyed only the Horcrux inside you, because your mother's protection would have kept you safe." Dumbledore smiled.

"But we are talking right now, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes."

"And you're dead."

"Oh, yes," the Headmaster said, matter-of-factly.*

"Then...I'm dead too?"*

"Ah," said Dumbledore, smiling broadly. "On the whole, dear boy, I think not."*

"Then, if I am not dead," Harry asked desperately, "why am I here?"

Dumbledore beamed. "An excellent question, Harry. Do you wish to be here?"

Harry frowned. "Why would I wish to be dead?"

Dumbledore's smile widened, as though Harry had said something that pleased him. "Why indeed?"

"So... I can leave here when I wish to?" he asked.

Dumbledore just twinkled in response.

But something irked at Harry. And he did not want to leave here without getting at least some of his questions answered, while he could.

"Professor, when we were hunting Horcruxes," Harry asked, "Ron, Hermione, and I, I mean." He clarified. "A doe patronus lead us to the Sword of Gryffindor. And, well..."

"Yes?" Dumbledore prompted, looking like he knew where Harry's inquiry was heading.

"I was just wondering... because Kingsley's patronus is a bobcat, and Mr Weasley's is a weasel... the doe, sir?"

Dumbledore looked meaningfully at Harry. "Can you make an educated guess, my boy?"

Harry just looked at the older wizard.

"Your mother's patronus was also a doe, Harry," Dumbledore hinted gently.

Unfortunately, Harry had no idea what he could possibly glean from that, except... What did Dumbledore mean, _also?_ Who knew Harry's mother well enough to share matching patronuses with her?

Determined to think of something he knew _and_ could use, Harry thought harder.

Where did the Sword come from, anyway, when he and Ron were lead to it when it was in the frozen lake?

Then he remembered.

Ginny, Neville, and Luna had tried to steal the Sword. Why? Did they do it to help himself, Ron, and Hermione? Did they somehow figure out that the Sword was important to them?

_But how did they know that? Did someone tell them? _

It could only have been someone who was at Hogwarts with them. That's when they tried to steal the Sword...

"The Sword of Gryffindor was at Hogwarts, before we got it, wasn't it, sir?"

The older wizard nodded.

_Then..._ "Somebody at Hogwarts sent the sword to us!" Harry realised. "But not McGonagall, her patronus is a cat."

Dumbledore just smiled at that. "I like your train of thought, Harry," he said, giving nothing away.

_Train of thought?_ Harry wondered, confused. Cats? Or Heads of Houses?

Thinking of cats just lead Harry to Argus Filch, who was unlikely to be casting any Patronuses, even with those self-help books of his.

So that left the Hogwarts Heads of Houses who were in Hogwarts at the time the doe brought Harry to the Gryffindor Sword...

"It wasn't Professor Flitwick's, was it?"

"No, dear boy," Dumbledore shook his head.

"Professor, what is professor Sprout's patronus?"

"It is uncorporeal, Harry."

"Ummm... Slughorn, then?"

Dumbledore twinkled merrily. "Horace may think much of your Boy-Who-Lived persona, and would no doubt help you where he could, but he is not a member of the Order, Harry," Dumbledore explained patiently.

_Who did that leave, then? Which of the Order members were at Hogwarts at that time?_ Harry thought wildly, until he realised just who that left.

Dumbledore always _did_ tell him that he trusted the man, but Harry just couldn't bring himself to put any more stock in this particular fact than he absolutely had to.

He frowned. Was it all really as simple as that?

The older wizard chuckled. "From the expression on your face, Harry, I can tell you have come to the correct conclusion."

And now, it seems, there was no choice but to admit that Dumbledore had been right all along.

"Snape!" Harry gasped, green eyes meeting twinkling blue ones. Snape _was_ the one Harry had been just thinking of, after all. He was also at Hogwarts at the time of the doe incident. And, he was also a member of the Order.

" 'Headmaster Snape,' Harry," Dumbledore patiently corrected.

"_He_ send us the Sword?" He still could not believe it. Rather, he could not believe that Snape would actually do something that would help Harry.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I asked him to."

"Oh."

That made Harry think a bit.

"If that is all, Harry..." Dumbledore sounded as though he were moving farther away.

Harry called him back.

"Professor, if my mother's patronus was a doe...",* Harry began, uncertain.

Dumbledore moved closer, smiling oddly at Harry as he spoke, blue eyes twinkling in merriment.

"Same as professor Snape's?"* Harry continued, determined to understand this mystery.

Dumbledore continued to smile at Harry. Though perhaps the smile changed, widening imperceptibly at the corners...*

"It's curious, don't you think?"*

Harry asked, now thinking that his own patronus was a stag, and whatever in the world _that_ meant was too much for him to consider rationally so he just contented himself with blushing furiously and staring at the older wizard. Because he could only think of what he remembered of Hagrid's classes, and that was that the stag and doe were each other's _mates..._

Meaning that sharing his mother's patronus signified to Snape nothing more than a significant regard for Harry's mother. There was no magical desire within Snape to dominate Lily, the way a male would dominate a female. No, Snape preferred equality and pure intentions to dominate him when his patronus took on a corporeal shape, becoming a quiet replica of Harry's mother's.

Just how _had_ Snape gotten to know Harry's mother, in the first place, for this kind of regard for her to blossom?

Because...

_Harry's_ and Snape's patronuses, on the other hand, complemented each other.

In the world of patronuses, that essentially meant that the _Harry_ could mount the _Snape_. And Snape would not mind, nature being quite clear on the meaning of_complementary parts..._

If anything, the blush that covered Harry's face, deepened at the turn this thought was taking.

_I like your train of thought, Harry._

But he was certain that Dumbledore's lips did not move...

Instead he looked right at Harry, as though considering something. What he actually said was*,

"Actually, if I think about it, it doesn't seem curious at all."*

Dumbledore looked at Harry and smiled.

"If you have no further questions, I will be going now, Harry..."*

Well, there _was_ still something Harry wanted to know.

"Is this all real? Or is it happening inside my head?"*

"Of course it's happening inside your head, Harry. But why should that mean that it's not real?"*

And with that, Dumbledore twinkled for the longest time, like the North Star at night, and gradually disappeared, like a cheshire cat, until at last only his twinkling blue eyes could be seen, looking knowingly at Harry.

**hpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpsshpss**

The Dark Lord stood up slowly, red eyes blazing and leveled the Elder Wand at Potter.

So Potter hadn't killed him, after all...

"Avada Kedavra!" he called out swiftly, his voice cold and shrill and merciless.

Potter had no chance.

"No!" he found himself calling out, futilely.

But still the boy fell over, limp like a doll whose strings have been cut. _Forever._

After all of the time he had looked out for him...

Potter lay on the floor, motionless, knocked down by the Dark Lord's killing curse...

Boy-Who-Lived no longer.

No one outlives the Dark Lord's killing curse after all...not even outrageously brave, idiotic Gryffindors.

Potter was gone now. Gone for good. Gone.

Just gone.

And Snape felt more than saw the Dark Lord's gaze turn on him in accusation. _You're next,_ that malicious gaze seemed to say.

His outburst would cost him, he realized belatedly.

"Traitor!" the Dark Lord hissed, but Snape didn't care any more.

Potter was dead. The Boy-Who-Lived was no more.

Snape stifled a sob. What a stupid nickname.

His own wand was still in his hand from the Stupefy he had cast earlier, as he raised his wand and pointed it unerringly at the Dark Lord.

He couldn't save the mother... He failed to save the son...

Even that bastard James Potter had shown himself the better man than that. Had stood by Lily to the end...

Where did that leave _him_, then? Lily had died, Severus lived. And now, Harry had died. And Severus, unlike that no good father of Harry's, had done nothing, once more...

_No,_ he decided firmly. _No._

Snape refused to be second to the likes of James Potter just because Potter had managed to always stand by those who were important to him.

It was unacceptable.

_NO!_

"Avada Kedavra!" Snape screamed, tears running down his face.

Voldemort's eyes widened as the green light hit him in the chest, but he moved no further. It was as though he was in permanent shock that someone would_dare_...

But of course it wasn't because Voldemort was in shock. He was motionless, because the killing curse had done its job, and the Dark Lord was no more.

The red pupils waned, and a moment later, the red hue left them, as Voldemort toppled over backwards, onto the stone floor beneath him.

He was dead.

The Dark Lord was dead and Snape couldn't care less, as he made his way over to where Potter was fallen, and, dropping lifelessly to his knees beside the Boy-Who-Lived-No-Longer (a sob Snape couldn't hold back escaped him, this time), gathered him up in his arms.

"You stupid, foolish boy," Snape whispered, his words ruffling the perpetually messy hair as he drew Potter to his chest.

_Still warm,_ came the realisation from somewhere inside him. _As though Potter were merely asleep, and not-!_

Of course, that meant nothing. They are always warm, at first, when the Dark Lord is _just_ finished with them...

Finished. The word echoed coldly inside his head. Potter was... _finished._

Another sob. Tears now falling freely down Snape's sallow cheeks.

It wasn't fair. Not Potter. _Not Potter._

Not the boy whose death would nail Snape's incompetence into his head, after all he had done to try and protect him...

But of course, it _was_ Potter, a fact that made it all the harder. The boy who loved life more than anything, had seemed like he enjoyed every moment of it, to the point of even pulling death-defying stunts when he played the ridiculous pastime known as Quidditch, laughing in Death's face with every dangerous trick he mastered, flying high on his broomstick, as courageous as ten Godric Gryffindors...

Snape sniffled wetly.

The-Boy-Who-_Lived_ was _dead_. Surely even Death saw the great cosmic irony in that?

Tears ran down Snape's cheeks in rivulets of regret...

_It just wasn't fair._

Perhaps if he were cold as stone, it would have made it easier, somehow, but Snape doubted it as his hands tightened around the still-warm Potter, burying his face in the boy's raven hair.

"You stupid, foolish, reckless, Gryffindor boy..." came the muffled sounds, muffled because he just didn't have the strength to lift his head away, merely for the sake of clarity, from the ridiculous Gryffindor boy lying dead in his arms.

Snape held him to his chest and howled out his despair.

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When Harry came to, he felt the rhythmic movements of feet treading ground and realised that he was being carried.

Tightly. He was being held to a solid chest.

In a death grip.

The chest beneath his cheek seemed to clench oddly, as though someone were trying their hardest not to cry. And Harry remembered Hagrid carrying Albus Dumbledore's body, tears running down his face... _Was Hagrid carrying me?_ he wondered.

The arms (thinner, than Hagrid's, he realised. _Not Hagrid, then._) holding Harry clenched tighter, making Harry gasp.

_How was he supposed to breathe, anyway, when he was held so securely?_ he wondered, noticing that there was next to no space between him and the person carrying him.

Harry shifted, uncomfortable, and sensed that the movement that carried him stopped.

"What the-" a familiar voice snapped.

Harry opened his eyes.

Red-rimmed black eyes were looking into his own, impossibly wide. _So it was Snape who was crying, not Hagrid,_ Harry realised. _Was Snape crying over me? But why?_the boy thought, confused.

"You're alive-?" asked the man who was carrying Harry.

"Of course I am," Harry replied, as though it were the most normal thing in the world to survive the killing curse. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd not grip me so tightly. I can't breathe."

Snape made a funny little noise at that, and in the next moment Harry was toppling to the ground, Snape's eyes rolling up in his head as he fainted dead away.

Harry ended up in an undignified sprawl on top of the man who, up until this moment, was carrying him.

Really.

Snape acted as though he'd seen a boggart.

Then again, knowing Snape as he did, Harry probably _was_ Snape's boggart.

Impossible git.

Harry sighed wearily at Snape's assessment, but picked himself up off the ground (off of Snape, his mind supplied helpfully, and he told it to shove off), and, making sure that his limbs still worked, gazed down at the current Headmaster of Hogwarts.

At least Snape was no longer stifling him, Harry realised as he breathed deeply, his chest rising and filling with much needed air.

After everything he'd been through, it felt glorious.

_Like flying on his Firebolt would be, after all this time..._

Then he gathered himself.

_Well, I can't just leave him here,_ Harry thought reasonably and picked Snape up in his arms, resolving to do a better job carrying the man than Snape had done carrying Harry.

At the very least, Harry was fairly certain that _he_ would not faint when Snape deigned to wake up.

And with that, he resumed their slow trek back to Hogwarts Castle.


	2. What if? --- Author's Note

Author's Note:

Murder tears the soul apart. Sincere remorse heals the soul. Now think back to what Snape forced himself to do. And remember what he did right after. Tears of heartfelt regret, it seems, also have healing powers. It... just seemed a nice thing to do for Snape, to put him back together when all was said and done. ;) This is probably another fix-it thing, now that I think about it. :P Then again, all things considered, it's a lot easier to put Snape's soul back together than... Voldemort's, for example. So the other fix-it thing here would be to give Voldemort the bit he was due and denied in DH (book) canon. I respect the movie creators that little bit more for trying to fix some of those glaring gaps that Rowling left in her wake. Yet another fix-it thing is Snape's ambiguity. Do not read this with Snape/Lily or Snape/Harry, or Snape/Voldemort, or Snape/Dumbledore. Snape is more complicated than that, and that is what makes him so great and the reason we all love him. He is all of these things, and perhaps even a bit more. His flexibility is what I tried to leave in as I described his different reactions from varying perspectives. Snape is simply _more_ than that, and this story will speak to you clearer if you give Snape a bit of leeway in his personality and motivations. In the words of a famous quote changed for the benefits of fandom (not by me): Give me ambiguity, or give me something else. ;)


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